MELMOTH, 

THE 

wanberer: 

^ MELO'DRMMTIC UOMAJs'^CEy 

IN THREE ACTS. 

(founded on the popular novel of that name.) 

Vi:UFOIlMF.D, Foil THE FIRST TIME, AT THE BOTAL COBUIia 
THEATRE, ON MONDAT, JULY I4th, 1823. 



BALTIMORE: 

PRINTED AND PUBLISHED BY J. ROBINSON, 

Circulating Library and Dramatic Repositoi7. 

1831. 



DRAMATIS PERSONiE, 



Melmoth, the llandcrer, 
VValburg, the Victim^ . 
Frederico, his Child, 
Lorenzo, in love with Irmnalee^ . 
Anselmo, an aged Monk, 
Grimon, Jailor of the Inquisition^ 
Rozombiro, art Inn-keefieVy 
Popo, his Factotum^ 

Inquisitors 



Mutes, 



Lawyer, . 
Murdered Monk, 



Mr. Bengougli. 

Mr. Huntley. 

Miss Young. 

Mr. Howell. 

Mr. Gale. 

Mr. Bradley. 

Mr. Fisher. 

Mr. Sloman. 
CMr. Cooper. 
t Mr. Hobbs. 

C Mr. Asbury. 
C Mr. George. 

Mr. Honor. 
Mr. Boulanger. 



Monks, Familiars, Inquisitors, Officers, ts'c. Isfc. 



Ina, li'ife of Walburg, . 
Immalee, their Daughter, 
Slutto, attached to Pofio, 



Mrs. Stanley. 
Mrs. Young. 
Miss GaskTll. 



Kuns, Attendants, Istc- ciT'c. 
SCENE— 5/?am. 






M^ 






-*) 



MEIiMOTH, 

THE WANDERER! 

ACT I. 

SCENE I. — Room in a Sfianish Inn: 
Enter Rozombiro and Popo. 

Roz. Out! out! you graceless varlet, you! the 
house has not been open many weeks, and you must 
be ogling the maids, instead of minding your work, 
you lazy loon ? 

Pofio. I'm sure, master, I work the flesh off my 
very bones ; look atmv fingers else. — Oh ! my Slutto! 
its all for you ! Oh ! Oh ! 

Roz. Come, Come ! have done with your snivel- 
ling, and get to your work! Before this Slutto came, 
you could work, and do things as they ought to be ; 
now, devil's in me if I can get a stroke done anyhow ! 
but, she shall troop. I wont have my work stand still 
for love, and be damn'd to it ! 

Pofio, And what work are you talking of? 

Roz. The customers. 

Pofio. Ho, ho, he, he he ! the customers! 

Roz. What are you grinning at, you ragamuffin ? 

Pofio. Why sir! he, he, hum ! you said the custo- 
mers. 

Roz. Well sir ! and what then ? 

Popo. Why, Sir, then to my simple knowledge 
there has'nt been a dozen since you opened house ; 



4 MELMOTH, 

and although you have whited your house from top 
to bottom, so as to put people's eyes oiit with look- 
ing, I've been actually obliged to get tipsy every 
night, if it was only for the sake of setting a good ex- 
ample to our neighbours. 

Roz. Why — ah! that is — it is a lamentable fact 
that we really have not enough to do. 

Fofio. Oh — ho! Master, don't say so! If you have 
not got enough to do, we have — that is, me — I have ! 
Why, hav'nt I got to range out your windows every 
day — scour all your floors ? Didn't I whiten the whole 
front of your house? And now, to fill up vny time, 
hav'nt I got to do the back — nothing •• — Why, I'm 
gardener — waiter — fetch er and carrier all day and 
night too. I, master of mine, have enough to do, 
whatever you have; so don't say we are idle. 

Roz. Why, youvarlet — I'll — I'll kick ye out of my 
doors ! How dare you open your mouth to talk to 
your master — eh, you villain ? ['11 teach ye ! 

Pofio. >^ow, my good old master! — It's of no use 
making a fuss — I know I am as serviceable a young 
chap as any in all Spain ; and so, if yon won't let me 
marry my little Slutto, why, a fig for you 1 say! — 
pay me my wages, and we'll trudge together! 

Roz. Why, my good fellow— f Knocking ) — There, 
don't you hear there's somebody knocking ; and, by 
the loudness, somebody of consequence ; — there, go 
your ways, and mind your work ! — the house will 
thrive some day, and then I may rise your wages — 
(^4side) I must not lose him ! He does more work for 
a little money than two would do for double ! — 
{Knocking.) — I'm coming ! — There, go your ways! 

[^Exit Landlord. 

Enter Slutto. 

Pofio. Ah ! my little Slutto ! I've been having a 
quarrel with master about you. 
Slut-to, About me ! laws, have ye ? 



\% 



^^«i>^^ 



THE WANDERER. 5 

Pofio. Yes, have I!— and he says he'll turn me out 
of doors, and marry you himself. 

Slutto. He marry me I — Why, the nasty filthy old 
fellow — marry him! — and do you think if you was 
turned out that I would stay in! — No ! not I, indeed ! 
So we will go together ! 

Pofio. Why, that's just what I've been saying'to 
myself: — says I, if she's turned — that is, if I'm turn'd 
out — should I stay be — no, if she's turned out — will 

she— that is, would I Why, hang him, he's 

put me in such a way, I hardly know what I say. 
But, I'll tell you what — if you like, I'll go to the 
Monastery, and ask Father Anselmo to make us one. 
I've got a little money, and we will' set up an inn, 
and the devil's in it if we don't get on as well as master, 
eh ! — What says my Slutto ? Will you be Signora 
Slutto Popo, and make your fortune ? 

Slutto. Oh, yes — I don't object. And now you 
bring it up — I don't mind telling ye, that I've often 
wanted to pop the question myself, but could never 
muster enough courage. 

Po^io. Oh, Slutto ! you're an angel— and I'm your 

fellow — and so we shall do. Now, come along let 

old surly pipe — and he hanged. I don't think we're 
in the wrong — to get up in the world — (Rozombiro 
ca//s—" Popo ! Popo!")— Coming! There, I must 
be off. ("Popo!") Coming! Stay here, and I'll be 
back in a jeffy ! [Exit Pofio. 

Slutto. Well, I do love him ! And to fill up my 
time — I'll sing a song about love — 

SONG— Slutto. 

Tell me, have you seen a toy, 
Call'd Love— a little boy, 
Armed with arrows, wanton, blind. 
Cruel now, and then as kind, 
If he be among you, say, 
He is Venua' runaway ; 
1* 



6 MELMOrH, 

And ne*er be sure, 
For, lo ! his lure, 
La rose d'amour. 

Win^s he hath, whichlhoiigh ye clip, 
He will leap from lip to lip ; 
If, by chance, his arrows miss, 
He will shoot ye in a kiss, 
If he be among you, say, 
He is Venus* runaway ; 
And ne'er be sure, 
(, For, Jo ! his lure, 

La rose d'amour. 

Enter Rozombiro, followed by Melmotu. 

Roz. No, Signer — they've not arrived yet. 

Mel. Very well ! 

Roz. Would you please to take anything, Signer ! 
this is the New Inn, on the Old Road; — stands well 
—eh ! doesn't it. Signer? 

J\Iel. Ay — ay — talkative booby ? 

Roz. Beg your Honour's pardon! but — but as my 
house is — 

J\'jeL Landlord — I wish to be private! leave the 
room ! If I should need you, I will call. 

Roz. Oh, my good Signer — I'm gone! But — as my 
house — 

MeL Begone instantly! bring me intelligence the 
instant they arrive ! away ! [Exit Rozombiro, vexed, 

Mel. (solus.) The awful hour draws on — no time 
must be lost ! Immalee once mine — how to gain her 
— 'tis plain she loves me! but, then the terms — her 
first-born immolated! hew to act — how to resolve — 
I know not ! and yet — Cmuses.J—lt must be so! I'll 

Fut it to him ! should he refuse me — the infernal aid 
have so dearly purchased — must, assist me ! De- 
spair, misery, and death, must glare before him! 
One way alone remains — ages of torment await me — 
three days remain. Horror ! but three ' — ( Rozombiro 
enters.) How now? 



tHE WANDERER. f 

jRor. They've just arrived at my new hou.se — 
they're admiring my incomparable inn — I must go 
and help them with their cloaks. Here, Popo! 
Jaccho! Slutto.! [ExiC. 

Mel. Ha ! now to commence ! — This letter laid on 
the table— now to Guzman's! — the WilH {searches 
his bosom.) — Tis here ! — Immalee, be kind! consent! 
— they come ! I must not yet be seen! 

Roz. {without.) This way, Signor! — This way! 

Mel. They are here! the casement? it must be 
so! \_0j[ien8it,andjum^isout. 

Enter Walburg, Ina, Immalee, Lorenzo, Fre- 
DERico, and followed by Rozombiro. 

Roz. This way ! this way ! — eh ! why, where the 
diabolo has the Signor flown to? — I left him here 
this instant; and — oh! here is a note — left by him, 
1 dare say — *' To Ualdurg." — Is that your name, 
Signor? 

JVal. It is! — {Takes letter, o/iens it and reads) — 
*' Thy uncle is already dead! Haste to the Castello!" 

Ina. Dead ! then we have arrived too late I 

IVal. It vexes me sore! I had borne his hate so 
long, that could I on his death-bed have received 
his prcflfered love, twould have been a balm to all 
my sorrow. 

Lor. Tut ! let not that vex thee ! — thy fortunes 
will prosper, I warrant. — The sumt?ions said, haste 
to me — heir of my wealth, did it not ? 

li'al. It did, good youth. — Immalee — you appear 
dejected! — Come — come — drive this Rinaldo from 
thy mind! — Here is Lorenzo— true to thee, although 
thou hast slighted him. Come hither to me ! let me 
join your hands — and, oh, may heaven join your 
hearts ! — Immalee ! 

Imtna. {abstractedly.) Father! 

H^al. Nay, Immalee — banish this folly — I was 
speaking of Lorenzo. 



8 MELMOTrt, 

Imma. Oh, father ! press it no farther ? you knoW 
I respect Lorenzo — but Rinaldo ! — ah i* he alone re- 
tains my' — love ! 

Loren. Rinaldo ! but he is dead ! 

Imma. Ha ! it may be ! it may be ! but I've a some' 
what here {her heart) assures me he is not ! 

Loren. Nay, Immalee! you talk wildly! — these 
feet followed him to the grave — these eyes beheld 
earth close on him for ever. 

Imma. {affected.) Lorenzo! dear Lorenzo! if in- 
deed you love me, do not- oh, do not—toueh so 
harshly the string of all my woes!— Forbear ' forbear ! 
IfaL {who has been talking afiart ivith Ina.) Tut I 
tut, wife ! — What a plague makes ye so melancholy ? 
how could we have made a proper appearance ? I 
tell you 'twas all for the best ! 

Ina. Best!— ah, Walburg ! if he should have 
altered his opinion before his death, and nothing 
more likely — our whole resources destroyed — our 
money exhausted — ruin and misery w^ill be the con- 
sequence ! 

Ji'aL Pshaw ! why, what makes you so fond of 
damping our joy? — Look on our boy here— how 
could we have provided for him ?— and suppose he 
should have altered his will— here's Lorenzo and I — 
two healthy men. Wife! wife! Want will nevre 
show his face where we appear ! We can work— 
can't we ? 

Ina. Work! Who will employ you, in this land of 
bigotry ?— How can you live in the very heart of the 
Inquisition? 

Wal. Come ! come ! enough of this I— By this time 
our refreshment is ready— I must partake hastily — 
then fly to Guzman's— and know whether we are 
heirs to happiness, or kin to wo. Come, wife ! 
Hold up your head ! you need not blush !— I forgive 
you — you shall be a great personage, think so or not. 



THE WANDERER. 9 

SCENE II. — Room in Guzman's Palace— In the 
centre a Bureau, surmounted with a handsome 
Case. Melmoth enters hastily — he looks round 
with caution—takes Parchment from his bosom. — 
{Music 

Mel. No one observes this v/riting, an exact 

imitation — in aught save the purport — must be sub- 
stituted for the one in yonder case. Not an instant 
must be lost. The key ? 'tis here. (0/iens the 
case — takes out ftafiers- filaces others in their stead — 
looks round ivith agitation — Music.) *Tis mine ! — 
Now, Immalee, thy breath alone will save thy father, 
mother; all that thou dost love, respect, or rever- 
ence. Hist ! — that noise ! — they come ! — This clo- 
set must conceal me. {He enters closet.) 

[Several friends of the deceased enter — Monks and 
Officers of the Inquisition — Inhabitants of the City 
— Servants o/Guzman enter and range themselves. 
Melmoth comes forward, disguised as a Monk. 
Walburg, with Lawyers, enter. Anselmo stands 
forward — while the Characters enter. — Music ] 

Ansel. Hear! Friends of the deceased Guzman! 
with him, till life and troubles closed; he opened 

his mind to me ; let not my friends be surprised, 

said he } — I have ever loved them. — These were his 
dying words — ^Walburg, I auger well for you ; — He 
often spoke of you, and on his death-bed he blessed 
you. 

Wal. Thanks, holy Father, for your information ; 
we had been long at variance, and it joys me much 
to hear it — Please you, and this good company, we 
will proceed ; my family await the result of this hour 
with impatience. 

Ansel Proceed to your duty! — {To the Lawyers.) 
\The Case is opened-, — the Lawyers ofien the llilL 
they start in amazement.'] 



10 MELMOTH. 

Lawyers. Good Heavens! most wonderful ! 

VVal. {observing them.) These bigots ! — my cup of 
happiness astounds them! their indignation will not 
allow them to articulate. Give me the Will ! — I'll 
read it ! — nay, doubt me not, all shall hear me — 
{takes it^ looks at it an instant — starts.) Gods — what 
do I see! — ■'* All, all to the Church," — signed — Guz- 
man ; — sealed too — his arms! — ah! — support me! — - 
(the Monks afifiroach him) off! — a light breaks in 
upon me; — the Monks, ha, ha, tis' a vile forgery. 
Anselmo! — you say you was with him! saw him 
die! (seizes him) 'twas you ! — confess ! — confess that 
Will ! — how came it there? — my brain! I shall go 
ms.dl—(su/i/iiicates) Anselmo! — Think on my wife, 
my children, my — ha! Misery! Beggary! — ha, ha, 
ha. (sivoons.) 

Mel. (aside.) It works as I would wish; (aloud) raise 
him, he will recover, 

Ansel, (sujifiorting him.) Rouse thee I rouse thee, 
Walburg ! all will be well, the Church will provide 
for thee. 

Monks and Inqisitors. Never! 

Ansel. Why ! — your reason ? 

Inquis. He is an Heretic ! 

Monks. Away with him! 

l^ak (recovering.) Ha! heard ye that? — Where 
is the Will ? 

.Lawyer. 'Tis here. 

li'al. Keep it then — I'll not be juggled thus: — 
it shall be judged. Go, call the Officers together. 
Monks, let your superiors attend — it shall be tried. 
Away, ye grovelling things! — But now ye thought 
me rich and mighty ; ye would have licked the dust 
from off my feet. Now, that the tide has changed, 
beggary and infamy be my portion. Get hence, I 
say ! or, by offended heaven, I'll strew such fell 
destruction o'er ye, that none shall live to tell his 
fellow out. Away ! I say* (All excefit Melmoth 



THE WANDERER. 11 

exeunt.) How now! why dost linger P I know thee 
not. 

Mel. {taking' off his cloak.) Not know me, Wal- 
burg? — thy friend Rinaldo! {Walburg starts.) — 
Why do ye wonder? — How fares my Immalee? 

Wal. Thy Immalee — Avaunt ! there is no lustre 

in thy orbless eyes. Away! 1 know thee now; 

and here, before the face of heaven, I swear, by all 
my hopes of happiness to come, she 

'Mel. Walburg! — Pause ere you pronounce. 

List to me Know me for thy master; aye, and 

I'll show it too. Refuse me the hand of thy fair 
daughter, and biting, nameless, horrid misery o'er- 
takes ye. Think, Walburg, on Melmoth, when 
rustling in straw — praying to stone walls — your wife, 
your children, stretched around ye in the agonies of 
death — hated by all— shunned, forsaken-^then, then 
will you think of Melmoth, and curse the hour you 
was born. Be wise — be wise. Consent — and hap- 
piness, life, and pleasure are thine. 

Ual. Horror freezes me — Cold sweats bedew my 

palsied limbs — ^but strength permits 1 repeat, 

will die repeating it, despite thy boasted power — 
she never shall be thine. Listen to me, Melmoth 
(for such I find thou art) : I once loved thee, even 
as Immalee: — I should have joyed to call ye Son. 
Alas ! I knew thee not. The night arrived that 
should have seen your marriage — A man whom you 
had offended struck ye to the heart ; and, stretched 
in the embrace of death, the bride beheld the 
stricken bridegroom with deepest wo — me and mine 
did honours to your corpse, and buried you in a grave 
formed by nature — in a rude, but honoured rock. 
Judge, then, my disgust and horror, when I see thee 
stand before me in all the horrid reality of life, 
demanding my innocent child as the bride — the bride 
of the grave. I sicken with disgust. — By heaven, I 
would not call thee son, though *twas to purchase 
life! {Rushes out.) 



12 MELMOTH, 

MeL Indeed ! dost think so ? I'll try thee farther ; 
and if thou dost not pray of mc to take thy daugh- 
ter—I know not the workings of the hunnan heart. — 
Mow to seek her, to open my heart to her, inform 
her of my dangers, nny engagements. I know her 
feeling nature, I must play deeply and subtiUy here 

no time, no opportunity must be lost. She must, 

she shall be mine. \_ExU. 



SCENE III— ^ Room in Walburg's House. 
Enter Immalee. 

Imma. 'Tis all in vain, their anxiety afflicts me, 
but my own wretchedness drives me mad— Oh 
Lorenzo! How I pity thee, to gain my love, what 
hast thou not sacrificed— every thing has been risked 
for our good; but no! I cannot love him— Love ! 
alas, that feeling is dead within me ; Rinaldo's grave 
contains my heart, my love, and never can another 
share his place in my remembrance, my affection s— 
What strange feeling comes over— Oh! thus have I 
felt in happier days, when all things were bright 
about me— his footsteps, or his voice would cause 
my heart to throb— my pulse beat high— but now 
alas— ha! {Melmoth opens the windoiv, and looks in) 
What do I see! My eyes swim-Rinaldo, Rinaldo— 
or is't a spirit ? Speak ! Speak ! — 

MeL Immalee! 

Imma. *Tis he ! 'Tis he ! {Screams and falls sense- 
less. Mklmoth enters and raises her.) 

Mel. Immalee, rouse thee.— 

Imma. {recovering^ Ha! The blest vision has fled! 
And, no! Still 'tis here ! Rinaldo, speak, what would st ; 
thou ? speak, honoured shade. 

Mel. Immale, I live. 



THE WANDERER. 13 

jrmma. Am I then permitted once more to see thee, 
once more to hold thee in these trembling arms — 
oh ! inconceivable joy. 

Mel. Oh! Immalee — sweeter than the air we 
breathe. 

Imma. They told me you were dead ! But I believed 
it not. 

Mel. Immalee, they told you true, a seeming death 

"Was upon me — the world seemed lost to me for ever 

but— nay, lean on me, Immalee, a few short 

fleeting hours are allotted me — To the point! — My 

name is not KinaUlo, but Melmoth! 

Imma {shudders) Melmoth ! 

Mel. Aye, Melmoth ! Melmoth, the Wandererf 
Listen — I have made a compact — signed with blood 

witnessed by fiends— registtred in hell, to wed 

a maid with her own consent, and deliver up her 
first born to 

Imma. Hold! oh hold ! And do you wish to sacri- 
fice your Immalee! oh, Melmoth! I have ever loved 
thee 1 knew thee not. 

Mel. Pshaw — you know me now.! say — will you 
be mine? \ 

Imma. The terms are— - 

Mel. Immalee, do you love me?- 

Imma. Love thee — thou knowest I do! 

Mel. Prove it! Consent! 

Imma. Horror and Love are combating within this 
bosom ; one would make me to flee from thee for 
ever, the other make me thine — but, my mind is 
heated now — I cannot resolve — to-morrow I will tell 
• 1 must retire. 

Mel. To-morrow be it then — Immalee, farewell ! 
(Exit Immalee — Melmoth gazes after her) To- 
morrow ! Then, Immalee, thou art mine 1 \Exit 



14 MELMOTH, 

SCENE lY.-^Fiew rf the Ball of Justice— at the 
backy a large entrance^ ste/is leading to it ; on one 
side the Palace of Guzman— o?i the other the 
Monastery — large handsome gates leading to it — 
Stage dark, 

Enter Popo. 

Pofio. Plague on it— how dark its gotten; the 
Monks have been so busy all day, that I have not 
been able to see father Anselmo. I must see him 
now, or my Slutto will tear my eyes out ! — The dear 
little cherub! I hope I shant affront their holinesses, 
or perhaps they may give me a free admission to 
their friend the— hey ! what a bustle there seems — 
I tremble every joint — poh ! faint heart never gain- 
ed fair lady. Now for itf Courage my Boy ! (Pulls 
bell, it rings loud. J Oh, Lord ! what a jirk I've given 
(the gate opens, and a Mute ajijiears.) How do you 
do. Sir? — (The Mute jnotions him to be quiet) what 
does he mean? (burlesques the motions of Mute J I 
beg your pardon, sir, but me and Slutto will be very 
much obliged to you, if — if — ( The Mute stamps 
iviih his foot, and exhibits a scroll, on which is in- 
scribed '• Silence or Death .'"J " Silence or Death !" 
Oh, I'm as quiet as a mouse — only if you could just 
tell father Anselmo— ( Mute points off" and motions 

for him tobegone.) Oh ! Certainly, Sir! I'm gone 

Oh, Slutto! Slutto ! — When shall we be married? 

\Exit 

\The Mute looks after him — opens gate — beckons 

two others enter — he points^ and they exit after 
Popo — the first to gate. \_Music. 

CHORUS OF MONKS AND PROCESSION. 

Hail, Justice ! Heaven descended, hail ! 

To thee we swell the hymn of praise ! 
ph ! May thy influence e'er prevail ! 

Still may'st thou cheer Life':* gloomy ways! 



THE WANDERER. 15 

Justice ! Universal good, 
Queller of the deadly feud, 
By thee, the hapless wretch redress'd, 
Finds hope revive within his breast. 
- The King-, the Subject, Lord, and Hind, 
All thy untold blessings find. 

[^During the Chorus several Inquisitors enter the 
Hall.— Confused noises are heard at conclusion of 
Chorus. 

Walburg rushes on. 

WaL Way — Way ! Waste not thy breath with 
empty sounds of that which is far, far above thy 
grasp. Way — Way. 

He rushes up, the ste/is^ and i» about to enter., two 
Mutes afifiear in front of door, which suddenly ' 
o/2(?77s— Melmoth IS sccn within surrounded by the 
Officers of the Inquisition.— They exhibit a scroll 
— on which afipears — " All to the Church !" Wal- 
burg utters a cry of anguish— falls senseless on the 
ste/is, — MonkSf iJ'c. group, around him. 

END OF ACT I. 



ACT II. 



SCENE \.—A Room in IValburg^s House.— L.OREti- 
zo, Frederico, Ina, discovered — the child plays 
at the back. — Ina and Lorenzo supposed to have 
been in anxious conversation, 

Loren. Nay, nay, Ina, is this well ? remember 
your health is injured by this violent emotion ; bC" 
sides, I cannot see the reason. 



16 MELMOTH, 

Ina. What, Lorenzo! After watching for him in 
vain during last night — the day on the last decline, 
and still absent ! — Oh, Lorenzo ! Did you but feel — 
but you are not a parent! Do not — do not upbraid 
me! VValburg has been rash— very rash! Why 
spend all our earnings? but I will not despair! I will 
try to hope ! 

Lore?!. Nay, this is too bad! I could account for 
a little anxiety, but now, you really exceed all 
bounds, -Ha! Allow yourself to think what you 
will be — not what you may ! — Walburg and yourself 
living in ease and happiness— Immalee enjoying that 
place in society, she was formed to move in Myself 
happy by serving you— and this little man, if it fails 
to make you happy, at least it will make him so — 
Won't it Frederico? 

Fred. VV^hy, I do not know, Lorenzo. I know, that 
I have been very happy, when you have carried me 
from town to town, and shewn me the wonders of the 
great world; but, when you bade me look at our old 
house for the last time, the tears came to my eyes; 
and when my play-fellows surrounded me, to bid me 
good-bye, my heart was so full I could not speak to 
them ; but I pressed their hands so hard, they must 
have known what I meant. 

IjOren. But you must forget them now. 

Fred. What, Lorenzo, forget them because I have 
grown rich ! No, Lorenzo ! I am very younej, but I 
remember what my father has told me, that the 
riches of the great was designed for the relief of 
the poor, and that the richest people were general- 
ly the most wicked. Novv, Lorenzo, if I thought it 
would have that effect upon you, or us, or my father 
and mother, I would rather we were back again in 
our old peaceful cottage, press our hard pallets, and 
pluck our daily food from the brook that ripples 
round the cottage. What think ye, mother.^ ah! 
you sigh ! and now a tear drops from your eye upon 



THE WANDERER. If 

A\y hand; why do you Weep, mother ? speak ! speak 
to your poor Frederico ! 

Ina. Good boy, may you ever think thus ! may 
thy youthful innocence never be ripened into man- 
hood and hypocrisy, but with thy years may'st thou 
retain thy virtue and so be happy ; joyous here and 
hereafter. Sing Frederico! sing — 

Fred. I will, dear mother, the air is a lively one 
and may charm you from your melancholy — 

Song. — Frederico. 

The Village Bell ! The Village Rell ! 
How richly sweet its chime doth swell. 

Ding, ding, ding, &c. 

To those whose hearts 
From Guilt are free ; 
To those who ne'er 
Knew misery. 
The Village Bell will e'er impart 
Sweet pleasures to the guiltless heart- 

Ding, ding, ding, &c. 

The Village Bell ! The Village Bell! 
How soothing sweet, its chime doth sweli.* 

Ding, ding, ding, &c. 

To those whose woes 
Rack e'en in sleep. 
Who, when they wake 
But wake to weep. 
Sweet Village bell thou can'st impart, 
Balm even to the breaking heart. 

Bing, ding, ding, &c. 

Loreti. Bravo ! Aye, Ina, hug him to your breast, 
you may well be proud of him ! he does credit to 
those who were his tutors, and who one day will re- 
ive the reward of their labors. What! — tell me 

2* 



18 MELMOTH, 

that such talent was doomed to bloom and blow, and 
spread its fragrance in a cottage 5 No, boy ! a 
palace awaits thee ! you shall be honored, worship- 
ped, and — 

Lia. Lorenzo forbear ! nor let your visionkry fan- 
cies cheat you of your wits— forbear. 

Loren, Visionary, or not- — I have determined to 
look at the bright side of the picture, and — (a 
knock) Ha! he comes— now then we shall be con- 
vinced. 

[Ina catches at a chair for siififiort — Lorenzo 
ojiens the door — Walburg rushes in — in a 
state of desperation — throws himself C7i his 
knees, covers his face with his hands—his 
whole fierson agitated arid convulsed. 

Loreji. Good Heaven! what means this phrenzy ? 

Ina. My Walburg, how is it ? 

IVaU Not a ducat! not a ducat! (relafises.) 

Ina, Rouse the, Walburg! — nay — 'tis thy Ina 
calls! 

Wal. Ina! — Where is she ? — Ha! art thou there ?> 
Away — away ! — When thou knowest it, thou will 
curse me. 

Ina. Nay, Walburg — not so. — Ina will never 
break the bruised reed — will never wound the heart 
that loves her. 

Wal. Then thou art mine — Bride of despair, thou 
art mine ! 

Fred. Father, Lorenzo says I shall have ahorse, 
and live in a great house. — Shall I, father? 

Mai. {sfiurning him.) Thou shalt be a very dog 
— a beggar in the street shall be a prince to 
thee! — 'rhou shalt be loathed — scorned — cursed — 
for your father's sake ; and, oh, heavens ! — Lorenzo ! 

Did Lorenzo tell thee Oh! may my withering 

curse fall on him and all his kin; and— — 

Ina. Husband, ,for the love of heaven withhold 



THE WANDERER. 19 

this frantic speech ! — Lorenzo loves us all, dearly 
loves us ! 

Ual. Lorenzo, passion hurried me Your hand. 

Oh, good youth, did you know but half the misery 
now rankling, tearing within my bosom, you would 
fo!'give — pity me. 

Loren. Walburgf, this excess of grief amazes me! 
Recover yourself, and let us know the extent of your 
misfortune, that with alacrity we may pour the heal- 
ing balm of comfort, and share your sorrow. 

Ina. Speak, and let us knov/- the worst. — Already 
I anticipate 

Wal. Know, then, that upon opening the Will, 
I found that —Oh ! by heaven, my tongue blis- 
ters while I relate it — I found " all was left to the 
Church !" 

Loren. A vile forgery! Walburg, proceed. 

Wal. Doubting its validity, I demanded trial.— 
Strait it was ordered. I stated my case — was revil- 
ed, scoffed, and abused. Finally, sentence was pro- 
nounced against me — in favour of the Church! Oh! 

then rny rage was up Choaking ire rose to my 

throat — my hands clenched my sword — another mO' 
ment, and I had rushed upon them, and bough-t my 
death. Bnt dearly — dearly 

Ina. Your death! — Oh, Walburg! 

Wal. A secret, hidden hand withheld me. My 
visionary fancies presented thee to my ;;oiiiag view: 
Oh ! then my hand dropt nurvdcss to my side. — .My 
spirit groaned within me — ague seized me — and I 
rushed fiom the gloryiiig, exulting court of wicked- 
ness and blasphemy. At the porch Melmoth accost- 
ed me. 

Ina i^ Loren. Melmoth ! 

Wal. Aye, Melmoth :— And, if that amazes thee, 
list again, and let it turn thy brain, as it has mine. 
Melmoth, and Rinaldo are one ! 

^They shudder —Ina ^inks into a Chaif^ 



MELMOTH, 

Loren. Just heavens !— — And spake he to ye ?-~— 
What said he ? 1 am filled with wonder ! 

Hal. Yes — yes! The dead rises from the 

grave — the tomb gives up its inhabitant — the cold 
and loathsome living corpse demands my innocent 
offspring as the bride of pollution. Corruption !■— 

the dead ! — No, by heaven it shall not be ! Oh ! 

the curses of the v/icked one are strong — I feel them 
— they are upon me ! — -Brand after brand strikes to 

my brain Curse ! — I am the cause : — Curse ! 

Curse? — (Falls exhausted.) 

Loren, {raising him.) Walburg, be more yourself: 
shake of this agitation, for your own happiness — 
the happiness of your wife, your child, your Im- 
malee ! 

Jial' f starting ufi.J Immalee ! — Where is she ? 

jjia. But now she left us — doubtless she is in her 
room. 

Wiai. Lorenzo, go nay— quickly, quickly! — 

Oh! excuse my harshness — I know not what I do 
or say. See if my Immalee is in her room — bring 
here here — I would speak with her. There — go — 
go — '■ — {_£xit Jjorenzo. 

Ina. Why so anxious for her ?— She is^ 

JVal Wife, wife, there is a r.^ason. I could tell 

thee, that would Now, where is she ? Will 

she come (to Z,orenzo, as he enters ) 

Loren. She has left the house ! 

Wal. Ha ! where — where is she gone ? Wife, for 
pity's sake, tell me 

Ina. You terrify'^^me ! — She spoke of visiting the 
Abbey ruins : I knew not she had gone. 

Wal. The Abbey ruins! -then I must seek her 
there. Oh ! Ina, I could tell thee, that would make 
thy flesh creep in horror, thy blood curdle with dis- 
gust. But, while I speak, she is lost— while I hesi- 
tate, she is ruined past redemption ! — Answer not — 
«peak not — anon, I'll join thee. Immalee, stay t 



THE WANDERER. 31 

thy father comes. Join not thy hands with his: 

wed with the grave first Immalee ! 

[Riishes out. — Exeunt omnea. 



SCENE U.—Mbey Ruins. 
Enter Immalee and Melmoth. 

Mel. Then, Immalee, you are mine. Said you 
not so ? 

Imma. Oh, no, no! I said it not! Melmoth, 

cannot the horrid price of happiness be annulled. 

Mel. Say, Immalee, if I was stretched before you 
a black and stiffened corpse — my eyes closed in 
death — the grave ready to close on me for ever, and 
thy voice could bring me back, and thy word could 
bid me live, say, Immalee, would you be my pre- 
server? 

Imma. Thou knowest I would — my life should be 
sacrificed to save thine. But, Melmoth, to consent 
to 

Mel. Hold ! — A moment longer, and hear rne. If 
thou dost not consent to be mine before the hour of 
midnight — (thou sayst thou lov'st me) — this body 
will I)e stretched before you a black and stiffened 
corpse ; my eyes will be closed — my eyeballs dim; 
the grave will be yawning for its victim ; my time 
will have arrived — my hour will be come ? Oh, 
Immalee! ages- eternities of torture await me!' 
Speak, speak, and bless — preserve thy Melmoth ! 

Inuna. How to act — how to resolve' When 

my poor father hears it, 'twill shorten his dear life, 
and bring him down heart-broken to the grave. 
Oh, Melmoth! gain my father's consent, and Im- 
malee will renounce kindred, country, habits, 
h oughts ;— Gain but his consent, and I am thine for 
ver. 
e 



22 MELMOTH, 

Mei. If I could gain thy father's sanction, would'st 
thou consent to join thy destiny with mine ? 
Would'st thou indeed be mine, amidst mystery and 
sorrow ? Would'st thou follow me from land to sea, 
and from sea to land— a restless, harmless, devoted 

being the brand on thy brow, and the curse on 

thy name? Would'st thou indeeed be mine, my 
own, my only Immalee f* 

Imma. (ivildly) I will! I will! (Throws herself 
into his arms.) 

[Walburg nvithout.'] 
Ifal. Immalee ! Immalee ! my child, where art 
thou ? 

Imma. Haste! 'tis my father's voice ! — Swift! let 
me fly ! His frown would annihilate me, 

Mel. Nay, stay : the moment is most opportune. 
I will put it to him. 

Jlal. {entering.) Ha ! Immalee, my child, I have 
found thee! — Come, thy father's arms are open to 
receive ye. Monster ! detain her not ; or, by hea- 
vens ! you shall find that I have yet the strength 
and courage of my youth ! 

MfL Nay, waste not words, good man. Immalee 
(to save me from an impending death) consents to 
wel "with Melmoth. Thy approbation alone is 
wanted, and Immalee will be mine. 

Wal. 'Tis false — 'tis false as hell ! She cannot 

be so lost to virtue, reason, duty ! Say, Immalee 

—But, hold ! Before the word doth pass that beau- 
teous lip, list to me : The monster, Melmoth, 

stands before you — Now, speak and ease my soul. 

Imma. I know him, my father — I know 'tis Mel- 
moth. 

WaL By heavens, she leans toward him ! — Imma- 
lee — Immalee, and would'st thou- wed with a mon- 
ster, who will prey upon thy every hour of peace 
and happiness ; whose every movement betrays the 
ferocity, malignity of his soul .'' Would'st thou then 
wed a demoTif Immalee ? 



THK WANDERER. 23 

Mtl. Speak, Immalee. 

Imma. I! — oh, look not so sternly on me — I ! nay, 
then I cannot tell thee. 

llaL Speak! — Confess! {sternly) 

Imma. 1 love him ! I love him ! 

JMel, Thou hearest — 

UaL I do! (a pause. J — Oh, Immalee! I had 
thought that when Walburg, or Ina, died — their Im- 
malee would have mourned the loss, comforted, 
nourished, cherished the surviver with filial and af- 
fectionate kindness; but, all pleasant hopes are 
blasted — lost— for ever. I see thee willingly re- 
nounce thy home— thy parents — kindred— all ! I 
cannot withhold. 

Immq.. Father! dear father! Wring not your 
poor Immalee's already broken heart to anguish ? 
Melmoth ! the terms— the horrid terms by which I 
am to be your's ! my father knows them not. He 
must ! he must ! 

Mel. Infatuated girl ! But, if it must be so, know 
that I have sworn to marry a maid, and 

Vial. Enough ! I know thee not ! Immalee lean- 
not tell what magic spell draws thee with such force 
towards destruction — but, if thou did'st ever love 
thy parent— if thou did'st ever reverence his com- 
mand — by that love — by that obedience — I entreat 
thee— follow me ! 

Imma. {Agitated greatly.) Father — I — nay, Mel- 
moth, he will relent ; — on my knees, I implore — en- 
treat I 

H'al. Kneel not to me ! Speak not to me i— Imma- 
lee — return to us — quit that demon— and I will bless 
ihee ! — but, if thou dost resist me— oh ! may my 
deepest curse fall heavy on you — may every fancied 
happiness be found a grief—may sickness, misery, 
and all the long catalogue of disastrous ills, fall on 
thee and thine ! — Follow me ! 

Imma. Father — I will — I will go with you ! 

Mel, {Seizing her hand) Immalee ! at midnight ! 



U MELMOTH. 

Imma. Ha! my brain's on fire ! — Father! ha,hal 
-Melmoth 



Wal, Immalee — thy father calls ! follow ! 
Imma. Heavens! Father, I obey! Melmoth, fare- 
well — forever! Father, I come .' — ha — ha — ha! 

[jlttempts to follow her Father — bui^ before she 
reaches him, fas he exits ) she falls senseless. 
— Melmoth raises her.— The Scene closes on 
them. 



SCENE III.— -Room at Walburg's. 

Lorenzo enters— leans upon a Table, in a dejected 
manner. 

Lor. Yes — it shall be so! my health! my life • 
all for her happiness. — Yes — yes, he shall be obeyed • 
What is life — what is health— if deprived of that 
makes life durable ? 'tis resolved ! — a few struggles, 
groans, and throbs, and all that is mortal, sinks into 
dark deep slumber. Immalee ! that name — just 
heaven — how I have loved her ! but, no more of this 
— I shall grow coward. Their means are not suffici- 
ent for their own support— why? why should I be 
the devourer of their mite ? — thjsnote will explain 
— (lays it on the table, j — Pardon — pardon — just om- 
nipotent power! Immalee — may'st thou learn from 
this how great— how de«*perate the love of Lorenzo 
—the lost — dead — dead Lorenzo ! 

\_Rushes into a room. 

£nter Ina, nvith Child aslee/i — she lays it down, and 
gazes on it. 

Ina. Sleep on, sweet innocent ! may thy future 
dreams be all as peaceful ! may'st thou never wake 
to half the grief — the agony — the desperate despair 
of thy poor famished parentsJ Two days — no 



THE WANDERER. 25 

nourishment — alas! alas! lean no longer bear it — 
my child ! my child ! 

Ual. (nvithout, knocking.) Wife! wife! Open 
quickly I [ Knocking- refieated, 

Ina. ( ofiens f/oor. JHush! speak low — the baby 
sleeps. 

Wal. (Advances to the Child — gazes at it a mo- 
ir-ent — then, seizing his VVife^s handy he looks anx' 
iously in her face.) — Hark ye, wife — I once thought, 
that by humouring their infant wishes, we ensured 
love and respeci from them when arriv^ed at years 
of maturity. Alas! I find I was mistaken; vice 
blends its baneful bitters in the cup where every 
virtue seemed to dwell — the sweet whispering cup 
is raised— the bi?:ter horrid poison dashes to the lip, 
and every promised sweet is nauseous bitter. Ina! 
if thou would'st not nourish an adder in thy bosom, 
which will one day sting thee to the soul — now, that 
sleep, innocent sleep rests on its eyelids — say ! 
shall I ? — Speak, Ina! — (Seizes a large knife) 

Ina. Walburg ! what means this wild, this inco- 
herent talk ? Our daughter, Immalee 

Wal. Ha! forbear! she is the source — the hellish 
source of all my woes. 

Ina. What of her, Walburg ? 

Hal. Seek not the knowledge of it — but why 
withhold ? Immalee — the child of our youth — the 
child of our dear lasting love — is lost — lost for everl 
Melmoth will call her bride — oh ! everlasting tor- 
tures ! — " tlie bride of death !" 

Ina. It cannot be ! It cannot be ! I know her heart 
— her feeling nature — ever kind, pure, and affec- 
tionate] It cannot be! 

IVal. Ina — you deceive yourself! — Listen I I have 
resolved! our names must be blotted from the earth. 
Death — murder — desperation is in my mind! Ina — 
I have sworn — strive not to persuade me ! 1 will 
not live to see my child's disgrace — my honest 
family's misery and infamy! — a few more days at 



26 MELMOTH 

most, and horrid lingering death await us. Starva- 
tion ! — oh! *tis horrid! say, will it not be best 
to save the anguish — agony — and die at once — 
speak ? 

Ina. Walburg — for shame ! Where is now your 
fiimness ? W'hi re is now your faith ? 1 have shar- 
ed your fate ! food has not passed my lij>s since last 
you shared it I Still — 1 will not repine — but trust 
that the same power that inflicts will one day re- 
move the infliction, and again bless us with health, 
and life, and hajjpiness. 

IVal. Sure thou art more than mortal ! I sink be- 
neath affliction — but thou, Phanix like, dost rise 
amidst the ruins of our fortune, and smile in sweet 
serenity ; — but, I must now be firm. Why should 
we live — and but to meet with death — when thus I 
could rid me of wo, disgrace, and infamy ! 

Ina. We have admired the firmness of the mar- 
tyrs — we have loved them for their zeal. Now, 
Walburg — our time is come! it is an hour sharp 
and terrible ! 

Jlal. It is indeed. {Shudders.) 

Ina. But shall we therefore shrink ? — Your an- 
cestors were the first in Germany who embraced 
the Reformed Religion — have bled and blazed for 
it. Can there be a stronger attestation to the truth 
of it? 

Wal. Yes, yes; that of starving for it. I have 
often felt — 1 feel it now — that a death at the stake 

would be happiness to what I now suffer. What 

is this I hold ; 

2na. It is my hand, my love. 

IVal. Your's ! — No — impossible ! Your hand 

was soft and cool — but this is dry I — is this a human 
hand i* Ina — you must have been starving. 

Ina, Alas! we have all been so! 

I /i faint groan is heard as from the Room. 

Wat. Hark r* what death like horrid moan was 
that .>— Ina! heard you that dreadful groan ? 



THE WANDERER. 27 

Ina. Groan ! no — 'twas but the child moaning in 
its sleep. 

WaL Ha! Whv does he moan f* 

Jna. Alas! Hunger is the cause! 

Ual. And I sit and hear this '• — I sit to hear his 
youn^ sleep broken by dreams of hunger— while, for 
a word's speaking, [ could pile this floor with moun- 
tains of gold, and all for the risk of 

Ina. Of what? — {fiausesj Of what? Oh, let us 
die — rot — before your face, rather than thou should'st 
seal your pu-rdition by tnat horrible 

Jlal. {Hcrcely.J Heai- me, woman ! Hear me, and 
tremble not! — To see my children die of famine, 
will be to me instant suicide, and impenitent despair 
— But, if I close with this fearful offer, I may yet re- 
pent I escape, there is hope on one side — on the 
other, none. None I None!— Your arms cling around 
me — but they are cold ! you are wasted to a skeleton ! 
shew me the means of a single meal, and I will spit 
at the tempter, and spurn him. liut — where — where 
to find it ? Let me go then to meet him ! f ou will 
pray for me, Ina! Ina. Heavens! am I then speak- 
ing to a corpse ? {She sinks into chair.) Ha I Is it so 
incleed ? (loofrs at her with agitation.) The cold hand 
of death is on her — {starts up vjildly — seizes r.ht knife.) 
The Child! — Oh, madness I -Misery — my Child! 

Is there no other hand but mine to God!— To 

murder thee! — Well, well: better so, than to let thee 

live to beg — to to curse the author of your 

being'— No more! Phrenzy is in the thought! — 

Urchin •' To thy heart ! {raises the knife^ and 

snatches off the covering.) Ha ! Ha '• Ha! See ! See ! 
if smiles upon me — 1 cannot, cannot do it ! {stands 
irresolute.) 

[Ina starts from the chair — throws herself into the 
arms o/VValburg. — T/ie Child clings to his knee. 

Ina. Walburg, dear Walburg ! {he looks anxiouslij 
on them.) 



>2« MELMOTH, 

TVal. Then thou art restored to life and suffering 

nay, raise thy head — shelter it in my bosom — 

Ina, Ina — ( knocking: J Lorenzo, quick — open the 

door — (knocking- re/ieated). Lorenzo^ {The door is 

forced^ and several Inquisitors ru>ili in, — and the 
Chief stands forivard.) 

Ina. Seize the Murderers! 

J7ia. and Wal. Murderers ! — Murderers ? 

Wal. Back. — The first who lifts a hand, or steps 

a foot, dies on the spot Back Back, 1 say ! {he 

raises the knife.) Monsters ! Have I not been cast 
sufficiently low by your machinations, and art thou 
come here to heap insult upon injury. Beware! 
Beware! Beard not the lion in his den 

Inq. Nay, hold this fi-antic speech, and know — In- 
formation has been laid before the Holy Inquisition, 
that you have committed horrid murder on the body 
of the youth Lorenzo- — your unwillingness to open 
the door — the situation of your wife — your present- 

alarm, and evident fear. 

Jlal. Rage! Rage! 

Ing. The knife! All! — Ail! convince me of the 
fact. 

2nd. Inq. A letter, we found it on the table — its 
contents may help the present charge. 

Inq. {reads!) Ha! 'tis plain — "The body to be 
delivered toMelmoth " — Now then, where have you 
concealed your victim ? 

Wal. VVouder, indignation, and horror! Bind up 
my speech ! — Death to your fancies ! Behold ! In this 
Room, (I will conduct you) he sleeps in peace. 

[yy// but Ina enter room, 
Ina. Just heavens grant that the charge be fals*; 
and yet I doubt me. * 

\_A cry of horror is heard within. Warburg rushes 

out of room, followed by Inquisitors. 
Ina. Now — Walburg — spe^k! — Lorenzo is— 
Ual. At the point of death ! 



THE WANDERER. 29 



Ina. Good heavens! — But you- 



IVal. No— I am innocent ! The blood pours vital- 
ly from his bosom, and every vein — speech is gone 

1 am innocent — I am innocent — of blood! 

Inq. Bear him to the cells of the Inquisition. Let 
the dying man be taken care of— dress his wounds 

bear him after us ! Come!— Prepare !— Follow ! 

{as they are goirig out.) 

Imma. {%vUhout) Father! Father. Dear Father! 
(She enters, rushes u/i to her father, and throws 

herself at his feet he s/iurns her. 

WaL Viper — Behold ! This is the work of thy 
adored—detested Mel moth — I die! I die! But oh, 
how contented if I do but he:ar you say, you will re- 
nounce him — My own Immalee— renounce him ! 
Imma. I do— I do! 
WaL Swear! 
Imma. {kneels) Father, I swear ! 

Mklmoth enters, arid seizes her hand, 
Mel. Immalee- -Remember at Midnight. 
Vial. Immalee— your oath! 
Imma. Father— Melmoth ! 

[She seizes both their hands—looks at each a 
moment^ and then composing herself clas/is her 
hands fervently, and exclaimes — I swear! Falls 
prostrate at the feet o/" Walburg. They form a 
picture- Curtain Falls. 

END OF ACT II. 



ACT III. 

SCENE l.'—A Landscape—Evening. 

F.iiter Popo, fo/loived by Slutto. 

Slutto. Popo— Popo, you're a deceiver. 
Polio, Slutto, you're a plague. 



30 MELMOTH, 

Slutto. Hey day ! marry come up, my gentle 
Signor— and hey for your soft tender dears— why 
you deceitful — yes, I say deceitful, why haven't 
you sworn a hundred odd times, that I was your only 
love ? 

Pofio. Well— but then I was a novice. 

Slutto, Signor Popo— hold your tonguc-I will 
speak — a pretty life I'm likely to lead, if this is your 
treatment before, marriage, what am I to expect 
after ? one word for all, Jeronymo Popo ; you're 
not a man fit to be called my husband — so troop- 
march. 

Pofio. But my dear— think of my vows — 

Slutto. False. 

Pofio. My promises—— 

Slutto. l^seless. 

Pofio. My tears— 

Slutto. Feigned. 

Pojio. My groans 

Slutto. A fetch. 

Pofio. What! is this my sweet, darling, dear, 
soft, tender, languishing, dying, crying, pleasing 
Signora Margaretta Slutto. Why then- -if it is the 
dear little angel— angel's all sham— I can see through 
il, and now I've found you, you are a devil in petti- 
coats. 

Slutto. *♦ A devil in petticoats!'* 

Pofio. Where's your hoofs } 

Slutto. My hoofs, ha! 

Pofio. What have you done wjth your tail ? 

Slutto. My tail — my hoof— a devil — why- 



Pofio . Ha, ha, ha! -and was you really soft, 
enough to think, that I was in earnest. Ha, ha, ha ! 

why bless your stupid head, I've a sweet, softt 

pretty, tender, little girl— that — — 

Slutto, Popo ! 

Tofio. Tall figure 

Slutto. Signor Popo ! 

Pofio. Plump— 

Slutto. Popo! Popo! 



THE WANDERER. 31 

PofiO' Fine eyes 

Slutto. Oh, my dear Popo ! 

Popo. And then, her nose, her checks, her lips — 
her lips, you little fool. Oh, fire, love, and Cupid! 
her lips . 

Slutto. But Popo -who is she ? 

Pofio, Ha, how I've kissed those beautiful lips \ 
Phew. 

Slutto. Where is she, Popo, my love ? 

Pofio. I've taken her round the waist, so- -chuck- 
ed her under the chin, so - and then I've kissed, so 
SO--S0. {kissea her furiously.) 

Slutto. Popo! Popo! What are you at .> 

Pofio. Making it up, you little devil. 

Slutto. What, then are you really in earnest } 

Po/zo. Really ? Ha! ha ! ha !---I see how it is : 
you want me to fall out a^ain, for the pleasure of 
making itup---Eh ! eh ! Its all done —its settled. 

Slutto. What's, done, Popo ? 

Pofio. Why, Father Anselmo will be with us at 
Midnight— then he'll join our hands, marry us you 
know—you'll sell yourself to me— -I shall give my- 
self to you— -and you'll be Mrs. Margaretta Slutto 
Popo."- What is to be — 

DUETT.— Slutto and Popo. 

From "Fkudal Times." 

Slutto. All shall leave their labouring', 

We'll call each honest neighbour in : 
Hey for pipe and tabouring, 
When 1 and Popo wed. 

Popo. Never shall our holiday 

Be called a melancholy day , 
It shall be a jolly day 
When I and Slutto bed. 

BQth. Fat dc vol de rah ^c. 



32 MELMOTH, 

Slutto. 'I'hen, Popo, sweet Popo, since you have a mind 
to me, 
Pray promise, when married, always to be kind to 
me. 
Popo. All that I have, Slutto ; I have little riclTes though, 
All shall be thine, Slutte : I must wear the breech- 
.^ es thoug^h. 

£(jth. Fill de ral. 

■ Slutto. Vet they say, love's a doubt, 

Marria.s^e often wears it out : — 
Ere a year comes about, 
Lost is love and joy. 

Popo, Ere a year passes by, 

Sure our love will multiply; 

Mother you — Father I 

Of a chopping- Bov ! 
Both. , 'Falderal, &c. 

[Exeunt, 

Enter Immalee, follonved by Melmoth, 

Imma. Father! Father '—dear Father ! 

Mel. (resfrainiuff her,) Immalee, forbear! why 
seek certain destruction ?— Immalee, behold me 
prostrate humble— heart broken— at your feet I I 
love ye — love ye to distraction ! — Immalee, the 
shades of evenin^^ are drawiupj close, around us: a 
few short moments alone are left. Immalee, be my 
better angel my preserver! 

Imma. Melmoth, is this a time to talk of love? — 
is this a time to dream of happiness ?- — My father! 
my poor dear father \—.{w€efis. 

Mel. Angel of mercy, stay and hear me '—Up- 
braid me not--do not contemn me. If I am pas- 
sionate, your beauty m.akes me so; if lam preci- 
pitate, o\\ Immalee, mv danger causes it. Think, 
think, my Immalee. Thou wilt not murder me ! 

Imma. Melmoth, cease to persuade— —I have 
sworn 



THE WANDEHER. 33 

Mel. Sweet, you have. But have \^ou allowed 
yoursflf to think on lialf the horror that oath, if 
strictly kept, will bind upon ye ? — Immalee, can I 
gaze on thy sweet face, blooming in all the life and 
paradise of virtue, and marked with every budding 
innocence, and then to think it possible that thou 
couldst contemplate thy father stretched on the 
rack — thy mother*s limbs writhing in agony — when 
by a single word, a syllable, you could snatch them 
from impending death. No, no, no, Immalee! — it 
must not — cannot be. 

Imtna. Ha! is it thus? Rut, who has driven 

them to this horrid pass ? — 'Twas you, Melmoth — 

*twas you, on whom my heart doated You — 

you ! 

Mel. It was. You know my power — be wise, be 
happy. An oath ! — Oh, Immalee ! if thou dost love 
thyself, thy father, mother, or else respect it not. 
On one side, happiness and all its merry train pre- 
sents itself — on the other, misery, beggary, despair, 
and death. Come, come, Immalee — the Abbey 
Ruins. Wed me, Behold! night approach- 
es : — a fatal, horrid night to me, Come — the Ab- 
bey Ruins I — Come — come. 

Imma. Melmoth, your words have pierced me to 
my soul. Go to my father ; pray to him for con- 
sent : he will relent — he will pardon — he will — he 
will! — Bring him to the Abbey Ruins—I'll meet 
thee there. Time wears — away, Melmoth, away ! 

Mel. I go— I go. Oh! may the expression of 
thine eye beam in mine, when pleading to thy father 
— then, and then alone, success is certain, — With 
eagle's swiftness will I seek your Father, and 
join you on the instant. — Remember! — Remember! 

Exeunt. , 



34 MELMOTH, 

SCENE II. — Dungeon of the Inquisition, 

A lamp sufifiendf^d from the roof— a grated door on 
one side — at the back^ a small secret panel door. 
Walburg asleep on a couch — In a lyin^ on some 
slruio. 

Wal. {dreaming.) Ha! lovely youth ! — Lorenzo, 
they said 1 kilU d yon. Thy face is bright, and thy 
hair shiny. Youi^ hand, Lorenzo — Oh ! cold — cold 

— cold. Again! what ails thf-e ; — Thy hair is 

clotted with blocd ! Ha! avaunt ! — 'tis iM el moth 

— Demon ! — before her poor father's face Hark! 

she calls her father! — Lnmalee, T come — I come 

Die, viper, die! What have I done ? — Immalee! 

oh, poor Immalee! Ha! the room blazes! — 

save the child ! Wife — Ina — see that beam ! ha! 

it blazes — burns — it cracks — ha! ha! it falls — it 

crushes Gods! Wife — Ina — Ina! {Starts uft 

ivildly^ and rushes to the front.) 

Ina. Walburg — dear Walburg - 

WaL Ina here? Ina, they went this way — you 

must have let them pass. — Oh! 'twas cruel — cruel 
— cruel 

Ina, Talk not thus wildly, dearest — you alarm 
me! — 

fyal. Wildly, wildly— why should 1 be otherwise, 
is not my daughter dead ? am I not curst and hated, 
and loathed by all the world? — Ina! — Ina! — I have 
floods at my heart! — madness on my brain! — lam 
a wretch ! — a very wretch ! 

Ina. Dear Walburg! — do not agitate yourself 
thus 

Wal. {vacantly) Oh, Ina! I know you love me — 
yes, though I have ruined all your prospects, and 
blasted all your hopes — still I find, I feel you love me 
—Ina, 1 shall die soon. You will weep for me, 
wear sables on my account, and drop a tear upon roy 
grave — iua— 



THE WANDERER. 35 

Ina. Dear Walburg, rest on this mat — I will watch 
by you. 

Ual. Hush, Ina ! — 'tis follv. Can a father rest, 
and know his child's in danger ? No, no ! — Wife — 
quick — quick; my hat, my cloak! — I must go forth 
and seek her. 

Lia. Seek her, Walburg ? — Think ye, think ye the 
horrid dungeons of the Inquisition enclose us — the 
grated gates bind us securely? 

IVal. The Inquisition ! 

Ina. Oh, think on Immalee — on Lorerizo — on 
Melmoth. ^ 

IVal, Ha! thought flashes on me. Oh! this is 

the workings of the powej' of darkness. — Melmoth, 

Melmoth, where art thou ? (Melmoth opens the 

secret door, a.id steps forward.) 

Mel. Behold him ! Name your wish. 

Wal. "*.elease us from this dungeon : restore us to 
our lost happiness. 

Mel. You shall be obeyed. Immalee a^waits us at 
the Abbey Ruins. Follow me. 

Ina, Walburg, forbear : you shall not go. De- 
mon ! thy bait is useless here — desist ! 

Mel. Cease, woman! — Walbiirg, follow me 
The priest awaits us — the altar is prepared — the hour 
approaches. Come — come. 

IV al. Lead. Wife, I ^m desperate. Strive not to 
persuaVme — lam resohed, F'^llow me, Ina. 

j\lel. Follow. Quick — quick ! moments are pre- 
cious. Leave her — we will return. — Come, Wal- 
burg. 

Hal. A moment—— 

Ale I. No, no ! 

iVal. My Ina 

Mel. Away ! away ! away ! — {Forces him out — the 
door is closed.) 

Ina. fendeavcurrn^ to ofien it.) Melmoth ! Mel- 
moth ! \^'albul■g !-^Help ! help ! — A prisoner has es- 
caped. Ha, ha, ha ! Better see him writhing in hor- 



36 MELMOTH, 

ror, better view him bleeding, dying, dead ! before 
me — than lost, abandoned by his country, religion, 
God. Another Cain, to bear the everlasting brand of 
infamy and disgust! — Look down, ye j)owers su- 
preme! avert the dreadful crime — direct — assist — 

{Clock strikes Eleven. 
Ha! another hour, and all will be safe. Immalee — 
VValburg — Help — I die — Oh! Heavenly powers 
{She swoons — a voice is heard. — *'Walburg! Ina !** 
T/ie burs of the window are forced, and Lorsnzo a^- 
pears lowering a ladder into the dunreon — heJixeaiU 
— Sfieaks tvhile descending- ) 

Loren. Hist! Walburg ! Walburg! How is this? 
Ina — all silent ! — Surely I have not mistaken the dun- 
geon [he has by this tijne reached the ground — he 

paces about with disorder^ at length discovers ina — he 
raises her) 

Ina. Ha! Walburg, have you then returned to 
your Ina ? oh ! speak, and bless me with the words 
you aie safe. 

Loren. Ina, look up ! — 'tis Lorenzo calls. — Say, has- 
Walburg escaped ? 

Ina. Lorenzo! It is indeed! — O Lorenzo! — Yes,, 
he has escaped— ^Vould to heaven he had died ra- 
ther ! — Melmoth has been here. — Behold yon secret 
door — there they escaped. — But how is this, that thou 
art thus revigorated. 

Loren. Some drugs administered, soon restored 
nie to myself, — But we lose time — some spring, 
doubtless is concealed. — Search. — Ha! I have it I— 
'Tis here ! — Hasten, Ina ! 

Ina. Ha ! Hope beams on my soul ! haste, Lorenzol 
follow quickly ! 

horen I will, — First to hide the ladder, (a noi»e ia 
heard without J Ha! Some one approaches — nay 
then, delay is madness. — fhe rushes to secret door.) 
The spring — I cannot find it — death to my hopes — 
'tis here— it resists all force — nay then I must abide 
the issue ! {seats himself ac the table.) 



THR WANDERER. 37 

GrImon, the Jailor^ entersy — Puts down a jug and 
loaf. 

Grim, {ivithout observing) Here — come and par- 
take, heretic dogs ' — Ha, ha, ha, we're making a 
blazing fire for you— vve're going to let you look at 
daylight once more, then clap the extinguisher on 
you for ever! — Why the diabolo, dont you thank me 
for my information? Eh! Holloa! Why how is 
this ? — Gone — Lorenzo here ! Where are the Prison- 
ers ? 

Loreii. Escaped ! 

Grim. And by your contrivance, as I guess ! 

Loren. You guess aright ! 

Grim. Why now, in the name of all the saints, 
why did you not follow them ? 

Loren. I staid not willingly. 

Grim. I dare say not ! I dare say not! However, 
the scouts will be sent in search of them ! Mean- 
while the stake prepared for them will serve for 
you ; the fire will blaze as hotly, because an heretic 
burns ! Rest awhile ! they will broil you as a kind 
of a relish for the larger quantity, when it can be 
found ! I shall soon be back : till then make yourself 
quite at home— Rest ! there's a bed — oh, oh, — I can 
assure you, you will not be upon thorns, {going.) 

Loren. Stay — inhuman villain ? Stay and hear 

me. — I am young, rash, impetuous — never shall you 
leave this dungeon, without me ! — let me escape- 
favour the deception— and I will pray to heaven for 
blessings on your mercy I 

Grim. Ha, ha! — Blessing and cursing! — No, No, 
my fine fellow! — I know my duty— I love the 
church — and I hate heretics!— Why, on my life— 
I would be foremost to light the pile, though 'twas to 
annihilate your whole race. 

Loren. Monster! — Gold and silver I have none ! 
the rich man's bribe, I cannot offer! — Prayers— 



5« MELMOTH, 

tears avail me nothing ! — Thy pardon heaven! One 
way alone remains !— (i7rrtws)— your life or mine ! 

Grim, Oh, just as you like, my bantam ! Come, 
come on. [They Jight — Grimoii is slain. 

I^oren. My hands are siained with blood ! —a fel- 
low creature's blood ! — Well, well, he was a wretch 
devoid of pity, feeling, or rennorse, and pulled his 
death upon hinn ! — ha! a thought strikes me! 'ere 
long he will be sought for! doubtless, his keys are 
about him !— if so-ha ! they are he?*e ! — First to 
hide the Corpse!— (conceals it.) A sudden faintness 
comes over me! — I must be sudden, or every chance 
is lost. Ha! the hat and cloak — thus equipped, I 
may defy discovery ! {disguises himself. — Mxit at 
grated door, ivhich he chains and bolts.) 



SCENE THE LAST. 

Extensive and romantic view of Monastic Ruins 
by night— an open »/iace at back — Thunder^ 
J^ightning, Wind, Isfc.— The lightning reveals 
Tombs and Monuments falling to day. — Tomb 
and Altar, on one side— on the other, grand En- 
trance to Monastry. 

(Melmoth and Monk without.) 

Monk. Melmoth, thou art known! Attempt not 
to violate this holy shrine ! — 

Mel. Hoary fool, thy words pass me like the wind ! 
- Follow ! I have need of thee ! 

Monk. Nay, by heaven — you shall not enter! 

Mel. Take then thy fate grey headed doatard ! — 
To thy heart! 

[J groan is heard — Melmoth enters, drugging 
the body of a Murdered Mo>vK Forces op,en 
to?nbf hurls it in^ and closes the door. 

McL Rest there awhile ! E'er long thy services 



THE WANDERER. 39 

will be required The time flies fast! Immalee ! 

Must I then ! — but I must not now relent, — 1 must 
remain the horrid wretch I am ! hug to my breast, 
desjjair and infamy — and glut me on the nauseous 
banquet ! where can they loiter ? I left them In the 
porch— (7V.w?2c/^r, ijfc.) Ha! That horrid peal! 
Too sure it speaks my fate! — Immalee! — Wal- 
burg ! It approaches! — Mercy ! — Mercy ! {Thun- 
der, Lightning, ij'c. a large dark cloud descendsy 
gradually o/iens, and exhibits a large dial, nvith a 
hand nearly u/ion the hour of TWKLFE. Light- 
7iing, Cfc. play u/ion its face' Melmoth stands 
aghast.) Horror ! the time is arrived — still it 
strikes not! Why — why do I dally thus ? Immalee ! 
hasten or I'm lost — lost for ever! f Walburg and 
Immalke enter at back.) Ha! they come! Wal- 
burg ! Immalee ! Behold — behold the horrid re- 
cord of my guilt — my shame! Come to the Altar' 
Haste — haste ! 

Imma, Father, the events of the night have near- 
ly maddened me! I can no more support me! 

{faints:) 

Wal. Nay, dearest Immalee — rouse thee love — 
and brave these, unnatural horrors with my wild he- 
roism ! 

Mel. Quick !— Quick ! bear her to the Altar — 
she must be wedded thus ! Ha ! The hand moves — 
still it strikes not ! Immalee — Rouse thee, love ! {He 
takes her in his arms.) Toward the Altar Wal- 
burg ! 

IVal. Nay! Nay! She will recover! 

Mel. A moment lost — seals my perdition ! 

\^He filaces her before the Altar. 

Wal. The altar is prepared ! — the bride is ready ! 
The Father waits ! where is the holy priest ! 

Mel. At hand !— Behold ! 

[//e- stam/is his foot — the tomb bursts ofien — the 
Monk afifiears, surrounded by Fire ;— — a 
deeji wound is u/ion hia forehead ^ and his face 
is fiale and ghastly. 



40 MELxMOTH, 

Ifal. It shall not be ! —It shall not be !— No. ra- 
ther would I meet death in its most horrid shape! 

Come, Immalee— my child! let us leave this^ 

place of horror ! 

Mel. Nay, but by hell you shall not i— Immalee, 
you have sworn — Walburg, your consent is regis- 
tered by attesting angels! stir but a step, and this 
strong arm, nerved with infernal force, shall strike 
thee blasted to the earth ! 

fVal. Wretch!— an old man's hand — may strike 

thee to thy heart! 

[T/iey Ji,^/it, Walburg disarmed and thrown, 

Imma. Spare him! spare him! spare his grey 
hairs ! 

Mel. Be mine ! 

Jmma. Never I 

Mel. His fate is sealed ! 

[Rushes towards him. — Immalee nvithholds ///;n. 

Imma. Help ! help I 

Mel. You call in vain. 

[LoRfcNZO rushes in — sword drawn. 

Loren. No—not while Lorenzo lives, or wears a 
sword! — Murderer! — Tj-aitor! — dare if thou canst, 
the face and strength of youth, and so be vanquish- 
er or vanquished nobly ! — On 

Mel. Head-strong boy I — Be sure thy fate is 

death for thy temerity I [They Jight. Exit 

Jighting. 

Imma. (Clinging to her Father.) Father — Speak 
to your Immalee! — oh, what a scene is here ! — ha I 
the dial ! the hand moves — it is an hour! now, now, 
it strikes ! 

Melmoth enters at the moment, — stands aghast. 
It strikes slowly 

Mel. The hour has arrived — and I am lost, lost 
for ever! — Immalee! — Walburg! — humbly on my 
knees, biting the earth at your feet, I entreat, im- 
plore — save me! save me! — say but the word, audi 



THE WANDERER. 41 

am redeemed! — Nine, Ten, nay then, ^is too late ! 
Walburg — had you not thrust yourself between me 
and bliss, I might have been repentant — happy ! — 
Now to add, one more (the last) to the long cata- 
logue of my crimes ! die ! 

[7/<f seizes Walburg — t/iey g-ra/i/ile — Walburg i* 
thrown with force ; the last sound strikes — 
Melmoth utters a cry of terror ; a Thunder- 
bolt descends, strikes him, he totters a?id falls 
near a ruin, which instantly falls to pieces, 
and crushes him. Shouts are heard. — Lo- 
renzo and In A rushes on, attended by a nu?n- 
ber of Monks, ksfc, bearing Torches; they 
rush to the Front. 
Loren. Joy ! Joy to the heirs of Guzman ! grap- 
pling with our dread enemy — his vest flew open ! I 
seized it! — behold! 

[He exhibits a scroll, on which appears — " All 
to Walburg and his heirs." 

llal. Ha! is it Joy! Joy' Wife! Immalee! 

Lorenzo — my preserver! 

They form a group — Curtain falls. 



